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Archbishop  Quigley 


A  TRIBUTE 


O 


FRANCIS  CLEMENT  KELLEY 


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Archbishop  Quigley 

A  PERSONAL  TRIBUTE  TO  OUR  FIRST  CHANCELLOR 

HIS,  I  have  called  a  personal  tribute;  for  no 
man  has  ever  written  anything  of  another, 
either  in  prose  or  verse,  under  stress  of  emo- 
tions of  joy  or  of  sorrow,  who  has  not  written 
himself  into  every  line.  To  do  otherwise  is  to 
destroy  the  very  heart  of  a  tribute  —  to  take 
the  soul  out  of  an  eulogy.  And  it  is  a  common  mistake  to 
suppose  that  this  is  something  to  be  apologized  for;  under 
such  circumstances,  there  should  be  an  apology  for  doing 
anything  else.  But  when  there  is  weight  on  the  heart  and 
there  are  tears  in  the  eyes  for  a  dead  friend,  the  very  soul  of 
the  writer  must  cry  out  through  every  sad  sentence.  And 
when  the  weight  and  the  tears  are  for  more  than  a  friend  — 
for  some  one  who  had  approached  the  dignity  of  a  father  —  a 
still  stronger  reason  prevails  why  the  writer  should  weave 
himself  into  the  very  texture  of  his  words. 

4«    .J.    1^ 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  meeting  with  Archbishop 
Quigley.  It  was  on  the  piazza  of  the  Presb5^ery  at  Notre 
Dame  University.  I  was  tired;  for  I  had  been  trying  to  find 
some  one  to  put  his  love  back  of  the  home  missions,  and 
powerful  enough,  to  give  the  work  I  had  been  dreaming  of 
an  effective  support.  It  was  too  dark  that  evening  for  me  to 
see  very  much  of  the  face  of  Archbishop  Quigley;  but  the 
outline  of  his  head  gave  me  the  impression  of  having  my  own 
father  before  me;   and  he  had  been  a  stem  man. 

Perhaps  I  talked  for  twenty  minutes  —  bolder  than  I 
thought  I  ever  could  be,  gaining  confidence  from  the  silence 
of  the  listener.  When  I  had  finished,  the  Archbishop  did  not 
speak  for  a  few  moments.  After  that  he  did  not  need  to 
speak;    for,  without  his  having  said  a  word,  I  knew  that  the 

The  Moet  Rev.  Archbishop  Quigley  died  at  Rochester,  N.  Y.,  July  10,  1916. 


day  was  won.  Here  at  last,  after  years  of  weary  waiting,  I 
had  been  given  a  hearing.  Without  being  told,  I  knew  that 
the  work  was  about  to  begin;  and  that  this  man  before  me, 
sitting  silent  but  all  intent,  had  weighed  the  thing  WITH 
HIMSELF  LEFT  OUT.  I  could  then  almost  see  my  own 
father  in  front  of  me,  studying  the  right  and  the  wrong  — 
the  good  and  the  evil  of  my  petition  —  and  coming  to  the 
decision  that  his  reason  rather  than  his  heart  dictated.  The 
impressions  of  that  evening  at  Notre  Dame  are  as  vivid  with 
me  to-day,  after  ten  years,  as  they  were  then.  They  will 
always  be  as  vivid. 

^    1^    ^ 

Ten  long  and  happy  years  we  worked  for  the  Society 
together.  He  had  a  double  interest ;  I  but  a  single  one.  The 
great  archdiocese  of  Chicago  was  his  to  govern;  I  had  noth- 
ing to  do  but  build  up,  with  his  encouragement,  though  rarely 
under  his  direct  orders,  the  interests  of  the  work.  With  most 
men  the  two  separate  interests  would  have  clashed.  They 
did  not  clash  with  Archbishop  Quigley,  because  to  him  they 
were  not  separate  interests.  It  would  have  been  only  natural, 
perhaps,  had  he  not  been  so  much  of  a  spiritual  character,  that 
the  large  sums  of  money  given  to  the  Society  for  work  outside 
his  diocese  would  have  caused  a  slight  pang  of  jealousy; 
but  the  jealousy  never  appeared.  He  knew  what  every  other 
good  man  knows  —  only  in  his  case  he  was  willing  to  carry 
principle  into  practice  —  that  generosity  inspires  generosity. 

4*    Hh    4* 

So  the  Archbishop  was  glad  and  proud  of  every  step  in 
advance ;  ever  ready  with  an  encouraging  word ;  careful  never 
to  hamper  with  unnecessary  criticisms,  but  lavish  in  counsel 
when  counsel  was  sought;  kind  in  his  treatment  of  appeals; 
regretful  when  he  could  not  do  more  than  his  best;  consid- 
erate in  his  dealings ;  so  that  even  his  faults  —  but  there  is  no 
memory  now  for  the  unusual  in  him  —  had  the  virtue  of  a 
sane  conservatism.  Without  Archbishop  Quigley  Church 
Extension  would  not  have  been  bom;  without  him  it  could 
not  have  lived:  he  died  only  when  its  success  was  won,  and 
he  knew  that  his  work  was  safe.  It  would  be  the  basest  and 
deepest  ingratitude  if  I,  whom  he  trusted  through  the  darkest 
as  well  as  the  brightest  days  of  the  struggle,  should  take  one 


jot  or  tittle  of  the  credit  that  was  his  for  myself ;  or  should  fail 
to  pay  his  memory  the  just  tribute  he  always  refused  to  allow 
me  to  pay  him  in  life.  Under  God,  the  protector  and  the 
father,  the  friend  and  the  saviour  of  this  movement  was 
James  Edward  Quigley,  its  First  Chancellor. 

•^   4*   Hh 

Years  ago  I  read  a  book,  whose  author,  if  my  memory 
serves  me,  was  the  Blessed  John  Baptist  de  la  Salle.  It  was 
called  "The  Virtues  of  a  Good  Master."  In  Archbishop 
Quigley  I  saw  the  kind  of  Master  the  book  spoke  of  —  the 
kind  who  grows  in  your  mind  and  heart,  as  he  himself  grows 
older  and  as  your  own  youth  grows  wiser;  the  kind  of  Supe- 
rior in  whose  hand  the  pruning-knife  fits,  and  whose  stroke 
is  as  gentle  as  it  is  decisive;  the  kind  whose  reason  is  so 
admirable  that  the  very  immutable  logic  of  its  conclusions 
becomes  poetic  in  its  well-ordered  consistency. 

What  then  were  the  traits  of  character  that  drew  such 
admiration  and  love,  from  those  who  were  privileged  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  man  Archbishop  Quigley  tried  so  hard  to 
hide  under  the  purple  of  duty  and  authority? 

The  first  and  most  marked  characteristic  of  our  dead 
Chancellor  was  his  constant  striving  to  be  just;  but  just  to 
his  duty  before  all  else.  He  knew  that  the  cause  of  the 
Church,  in  which  he  was  a  ruler,  was  the  cause  of  God  and  of 
souls ;  therefore  he  strove  to  render  first  to  God  what  belonged 
to  God.  So  his  justice,  being  well  founded,  was  applied  in 
the  proper  way  to  those  whom  he  had  to  govern.  To  ques- 
tion that  justice  was  to  reopen  the  case.  There  Was  always 
an  appeal  to  the  supreme  court  of  his  own  sense  of  right. 

But  the  Archbishop's  justice  usually  stopped  short  of  the 
praise  that  killeth.  He  was  not  a  builder;  but  he  knew  how 
to  handle  men  and  make  builders  out  of  them.  He  was  essen- 
tially a  director  and  manager.  He  could  dream  dreams  and, 
somehow,  let  others  catch  a  glimpse  of  them.  Then  he  did 
not  need  to  command.  When  the  work  was  done  he  seemed 
to  weigh  in  the  balance  the  men  who  did  it,  to  see  if,  perchance, 
it  could  not  be  improved  upon.  If  it  could,  the  commenda- 
tion that  indicated  the  finish,  or  that  encouraged  a  laying- 
down  of  the  burden,  was  withheld. 

The  virtue  that  "  seasons  justice,"  in  spite  of  the  popular 
verdict   of  Portia,    is   really    not   mercy,   but   charity;    that 


Archbishop  Quigley  had  to  a  wonderful  degree.  He  was  gen- 
erous to  a  fault  with  every  good  cause,  but  very  ungenerous 
to  himself.  He  had  an  absolute  disregard  for  money,  so  far 
as  he  was  concerned;  yet  no  one  was  more  careful  about 
money  than  he.  No  bishop  in  the  United  States  could  pos- 
sibly have  troubled  himself  more  in  going  through  reports, 
studying  accounts,  striking  at  extravagances  and  wisely  direct- 
ing expenditures,  as  Archbishop  Quigley;  but  of  his  own 
income  he  took  no  account  whatever.  He  might  have  been  a 
rich  man,  but  what  use  did  he  have  for  riches?  The  money 
he  legitimately  might  have  claimed  for  himself,  went,  outside 
of  his  actual  living  expanses,  which  were  small,  to  his  students 
and  his  orphans. 

•^    »J*    4* 

The  same  trait  was  manifested  in  his  dealings  with  the 
Society.  He  was  generous  with  the  poor  missions,  but  par- 
simonious with  those  who  were  not  in  need.  He  would 
haggle  over  the  salary  of  a  priest-officer  of  the  Society  and 
cut  him  down,  just  as  he  had  cut  himrself  down,  to  bare  neces- 
sities; but  five  minutes  after,  his  vote  would  be  recorded  for 
a  fifteen  thousand  dollar  gift  to  the  missions  in  the  Philip- 
pine Islands. 

His  sense  of  responsibility  was  wonderful.  We  never 
knew  when  to  expect  his  visits  to  the  office.  They  were  few, 
but  each  one  was  long.  He  never  missed  a  meeting  of  the 
Executive  Committee  or  the  Board  of  Governors.  He  was 
first  in  his  chair  —  always  on  time.  When,  in  the  intervals 
between  meetings,  the  Archbishop  visited  the  office,  he  sat 
down  as  if  he  intended  to  stay.  He  never  asked  for  the  books, 
but  it  was  understood  that  he  wanted  them;  and,  hovu*  after 
hour  I  have  seen  him  pore  over  them,  so  that  he  could  truth- 
fully say  that  he  knew  to  the  last  detail  the  affairs  of  the  work 
he  was  superintending. 

^   ^   ►!< 

In  this  connection,  I  remember  an  interesting  case.  Some 
one  of  undoubted  authority  in  the  Church  had  forwarded 
gossip  to  Rome  —  gossip  which  any  good  work  is  likely  to 
have  buzzing  about  itj  but  this  time  the  matter  was  some- 
what serious,  for  a  statement  had  been  made  that  the  Society's 
financial  affairs  were  not  in  good  condition.    As  was  its  duty, 


the  Holy  See  made  inquiries  of  the  Archbishop.  The  next 
morning  he  came  to  the  office,  and  handed  me  the  Roman 
letter,  saying :  "  I  think  I  know  all  about  this  Society,  and 
therefore  I  am  sure  these  charges  are  false.  Do  you  know 
any  more  than  I  do?  Have  you  any  reason  to  believe  that 
there  is  the  slightest  foundation  for  them?" 

I  answered :  "  Your  Grace  is  as  much  acquainted  with  the 
affairs  of  this  Society,  except  in  the  minor  details  of  its  man- 
agement, as  I  am  myself." 

"  Very  well,"  he  answered,  "  we  will  do  this  thing  right 
and  settle  it  for  all  time.  Secure  certified  public  accountants. 
Give  them  control  of  your  books  and  let  them  report  for  them- 
selves unhampered.     I  will  send  their  report  to  Rome." 

It  took  months  to  do  it,  but  when  the  report  was  received 
the  charges  were  fairly  met,  and  no  one  has  dared  since  to 
impugn  to  Rome  the  carefulness  of  an  organization  which  had 
Archbishop  Quigley  as  its  responsible  head.  It  was  his  way 
of  doing  things  that  counted  in  a  crisis. 

To  all  appearances  Archbishop  Quigley  had  no  heart,  and 
again  the  likeness  to  my  own  father  always  struck  me  when 
I  met  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact  no  one  could  say  that  he  was 
Archbishop  Quigley's  confidant.  The  Archbishop  would  talk 
to  everybody.     He  would  listen  to  everybody. 

"  I  let  everybody  talk  as  much  as  they  want  to,"  he  said. 
"  If  they  have  complaints  it  helps  get  them  out  of  their  sys- 
tems, and  the  business  is  finished." 

Those,  however,  who  thought  His  Grace  had  no  heart  were 
mistaken.  It  is  true  that  he  stood  as  Archbishop  against 
having  friends,  but  in  that  he  was  wise.  He  had  many 
friends;  but  they  never  knew  that  he  thought  anything  of 
them.  Acknowledged  friends  are  not  always  good  for  Supe- 
riors. They  invite  confidences,  when  it  is  often  dangerous  to 
give  them. 

The  Archbishop  had  a  fund  of  reminiscences  of  his  student 
days  in  Rome  and  Innsbruck  that  gave  testimony  of  his  old 
friendships.  He  could  entertain  by  the  hour  -with  the  stories. 
His  memory  for  the  old  days  was  remarkably  keen,  and  the 
friends  he  made  before  he  was  placed  in  authority  he  always 
kept.  At  the  time  of  the  Portsmouth  Convention,  at  the  close 
of  the  Russian-Japanese  War,  few  knew  that  the  Archbishop 
had  passed  a  week  and  more  in  the  hotel  at  Portsmouth  where 


the  Convention  was  held ;  not  because  he  had  any  interest  in 
the  Convention,  but  because  the  confidential  secretary  of 
Count  Witte  was  Dr.  Dillon,  an  old  school  friend  of  Inns- 
bruck. Years  after,  the  Archbishop  told  me  how  keenly  he 
enjoyed  the  short  evenings  he  spent  with  his  classmate.  It 
was  only  then  that  I  realized  how  much  he  valued  friendship 
—  before  he  made  his  friendships  with  all  mankind  and  refused 

to  discriminate. 

4.  4*  ►!• 

It  is  a  fact  that  the  Archbishop  had  a  mortal  horror  of 
allowing  any  one  to  influence  him.  If  even  some  one  in  his 
household  suggested  that  the  time  had  come  to  change  his 
winter  for  a  summer  hat,  it  was  practically  certain  that  he 
would  not  change  it  immediately.  He  would  wait  until  all 
suggestion  of  influence  had  probably  been  forgotten.  Then 
he  would  make  the  change  himself.  It  was  two  years  before 
he  accepted  a  suggestion  which  I  once  foolishly  volunteered. 
Later  he  carried  out  the  suggestion,  but  he  did  it  in  a  way 
that  made  me  feel  that  I  had  not  influenced  him  in  the  action. 
Does  this  appear  like  a  weakness  to  you?  It  was  not  a  weak- 
ness; it  was  subtle  strength,  for  the  Archbishop's  attitude 
was  felt  by  every  priest  in  his  diocese  just  as  he  hoped  it 
should;  and  they  thus  realized  better  than  if  he  had  asserted 
it  a  thousand  times,  that,  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  every  man 
would  get  from  him  a  square  deal. 

•^    4*    4* 

The  Archbishop  had  a  wonderful  love  for  the  home  mis- 
sions, and  he  manifested  it  in  imusual  ways.  I  remember  one 
incident  in  particular.  He  had  been  traveling  in  the  West 
and,  on  his  walks  aroimd  the  coimtry  near  the  hotel,  he  ran 
across  a  poor  mission,  without  a  chapel  or  anything  that  goes 
with  it.  He  said  littje  to  the  priest  in  charge.  Perhaps,  the 
good  Father  did  not  even  suspect  that  he  had  been  talking  to 
the  Archbishop  of  Chicago  when  he  told  his  story  to  the  man 
he  supposed  was  just  a  simple  priest  like  himself.  The  Arch- 
bishop wrote  to  me  on  his  return,  calling  attention  to  that 
poor  place  and  to  its  needs,  instructing  me  to  buy  everything 
that  was  necessary  to  put  the  mission  in  good  condition  — 
and  send  him  the  bill.  Even  the  pastor  of  the  little  parish 
himself  does  not  know  to  this  day  who  his  benefactor  was. 


and,  by  instruction  of  the  Archbishop,  he  never  will  know. 
I  went  to  His  Grace  one  evening  with  a  very  pathetic  letter 
from  a  missionary  bishop,  who  was  in  financial  difficulties. 
He  needed  five  thousand  dollars.  Now,  five  thousand  dollars 
was  more  money  than  we  usually  give  in  response  to  any 
appeal,  but  the  case  was  an  extraordinary  one.  The  Arch- 
bishop read  the  appeal  carefully,  and  a  look  of  pain  crossed 
his  face,  as  he  said :   "  This  man  should  be  helped." 

"  What  will  I  do  ?  "  I  asked ;  "  I  am  willing  to  follow  your 
suggestion  if  you  will  take  half  the  risk  with  the  Board  of 
Governors." 

He  said :  "  I  will  take  ALL  the  risk.  I  will  assume  FULL 
responsibility ;  and,  if  the  Board  does  not  approve,  I  will  pay 
the  money  myself.    Send  him  fiVe  thousand  dollars." 

>^   'i>   'i> 

But  the  case  of  the  Mexican  refugees  stands  out  alone. 
A  priest  came  from  San  Antonio  to  tell  me  the  story. of  the 
black  misery  of  the  whole  thing.  I  knew  that  1  was  power- 
less to  act,  yet  action  should  be  taken  at  once ;  but  I  knew  the 
sort  of  Chancellor  we  had.  "  Come  with  me  to  the  Arch- 
bishop to-night,"  I  said,  "  and  talk  to  him  as  you  have  talked 
to  me."  He  did  as  I  requested.  The  Archbishop  sat  listen- 
ing, not  uttering  a  word;  but  when  the  story  was  over,  he 
looked  at  me  as  much  as  to  say :  "  It  is  your  turn  to  talk 
now."  I  imderstood,  and  said  to  him :  "  Well,  Your  Grace, 
you  took  a  risk  once,  and  the  only  way  out  of  this  is  to  take 
one  again.  We  have  the  money,  but  I  can  not  draw  it  with- 
out the  consent  of  the  Board.  You  are  the  Chancellor,  I  am 
the  President.  If  we  stick  together,  the  Board  will  stand  by 
us."  He  laughed  —  and  he  had  a  jolly,  hearty  laugh  —  and 
said  at  once :  "  Wdl,  we'll  stick  together.  This  is  God's 
work.  He  needs  us  now,  so  in  His  Name  put  five  thousand 
dollars  in  your  pocket  to-morrow  morning  and  go  down  there 
and  take  care  of  these  poor  people.  Draw  to  the  limit  of  the 
treasury,  if  necessary,  and  don't  worry,  because  you  may  be 
sure  God  will  fill  it  up  again."     And  God  did. 

But  the  Archbishop  did  not  stop  at  his  first  step;  for  he 
never  lost  his  interest.  It  was  he  who  directed  the  efforts 
the  Society  made  for  Mexico.  It  was  he  who  kept  us  plead- 
ing.    It  was  he  who  directed  the  campaign  which  culminated 


in  letters  from  the  Department  of  State,  promising  that  all 
the  influence  of  the  United  States  Government  should  be  used 
in  securing  liberty  of  conscience  for  Mexico.  Before  he  died 
he  knew  the  history  of  Mexico  and  her  needs  as  well  as  any 
Mexican.  I  remember  an  interesting  incident  in  this  connec- 
tion. After  one  of  my  trips  to  San  Antonio,  I  brought  back 
to  the  Archbishop  a  souvenir  medal  of  the  dedication  of  the 
Basilica  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe,  as  a  present  from  the 
exiled  bishops.  It  was  very  beautiful  but  not  rare.  It  hap- 
pened that  the  Abbot-Bishop  of  the  Shrine  had  brought  three 
to  the  United  States  with  him,  and  he  gave  me  one  for 
Archbishop  Quigley,  one  for  Archbishop  Blenk  and  one  for 
myself,  all  to  be  presented  in  the  name  of  the  Mexican 
Hierarchy.  I  presented  Archbishop  Blenk  with  his  on  my 
way  home ;  but  when  I  arrived  in  Chicago  I  took  Archbishop 
Quigley 's  to  a  jewelry  store,  had  it  put  into  a  pretty  case,  with 
a  silver  plate  indicating  from  whom  the  gift  had  come.  It 
was  sent  to  him  on  Christmas  morning.  That  afternoon  I 
was  assisting  the  editor  of  the  "  New  World,"  who  is  pastor 
of  a  parish  in  the  suburbs  of  Chicago.  He  was  called  to  the 
telephone.  I  heard  him  say  "  Yes,  Your  Grace,"  once  or 
twice,  and  then :  "  I  will  attend  to  it  at  once."  He  turned 
around  to  me  with  a  smile,  and  said :  "  There  is  another  phase 
of  the  Archbishop's  character  that  you  never  noticed.  He  has 
just  directed  me  to  send  a  separate  telegram  to  each  of  the 
exiled  Mexican  bishops  in  his  name,  and  wish  them  all  a 
Merry  Christmas."  It  was  characteristic  of  the  Archbishop 
that  he  didn't  ask  me  to  send  those  telegrams.  You  see,  he 
never  would  have  let  me  know  how  pleased  he  was  with  the 
little  gift.  But  he  valued  it  more  than  anything  the  exiles 
might  give  him  later  out  of  their  prosperity.  The  poor  little 
medal  was  a  sign  of  their  love,  their  appreciation,  and  a  mark 
of  their  thoughtfulness ;  all  the  more  valuable  that  it  came  out 
of  their  suffering  and  poverty. 

But  one  of  the  greatest  things  about  Archbishop  Quigley 
was  his  vision.  I  suppose  I  have  no  right  to  judge  bishops; 
but  like  every  other  simple  priest,  I  have  had  my  thought  as 
to  what  ideal  bishops  should  be  like.  Archbishop  Quigley 
came  very  close  to  that  ideal ;  and  therefore  I  have  some  rea- 
son to  think  that  perhaps  it  is  not  a  bad  one.  Keats  in  his 
"  Letters  "  speaks  of  his  poetic  habit  of  trying  to  put  himself 


into  the  place  of  everything  he  saw.  "  If  a  sparrow  comes 
before  my  window,"  he  wrote,  "  I  take  part  in  its  existence, 
and  pick  about  the  gravel,"  It  was  by  thus  making  his  sym- 
pathy wide  that  Keats  perfected  his  poetry.  Most  priests  are 
poets,  though  the  great  majority  of  them  have  written  no 
verse.  Their  sympathy  for  their  people  develops  as  they 
develop  the  Keats  habit.  It  would  be  strange  if  they  did  not 
"  pick  about  the  gravel  "  with  their  ecclesiastical  superiors  — 
their  fathers  in  God  —  who  are  certainly  of  more  interest  to 
them  than  the  sparrows.  So,  by  thus  trying  to  get  into  sym- 
pathy with  those  who  are  appointed  to  direct  my  work,  I  have 
come  to  think  that  a  bishop  should  be  more  than  an  Ordinary, 
A  bishop  belongs  to  his  diocese  in  a  special  manner;  but  in 
another  way  he  belongs  to  the  country,  and  he  belongs  to  the 
whole  Church.  I  can  not  conceive  of  an  ideal  bishop  of  whom 
it  could  only  be  said :  "  He  ruled  his  own  diocese  well  and 
paid  no  attention  to  anything  outside  of  it,"  Yet,  strange  to 
say,  this  was  the  sort  of  bishop  Doctor  Quigley  resolved  to  be 
when  he  was  consecrated  Bishop  of  Buffalo.  He  made  up  his 
mind  to  pay  attention  to  his  own  diocese  and  no  attention  to 
anything  else.  But  later  he  confessed  that  he  was  wrong; 
and  it  was  in  recognition  of  his  changed  viewpoint  that  he 
took  up  the  work  of  Church  Extension,  Archbishop  Quigley 
believed  that  he  had  a  duty  beyond  the  limits  of  his  own 
diocese ;  not  a  duty  of  interference  with  the  business  of  others, 
but  a  duty  of  helpfulness.  Interference  he  abhorred,  but 
helpfulness  he  loved;  and  his  ideas  as  to  how  he  could  help 
were  wonderfully  broad.  For  example :  the  First  Missionary 
Congress  idea  was  Archbishop  Quigley's,  He  planned  it  to 
the  last  detail,  then  turned  it  over  to  others  to  carry  out ;  but 
promptly  forgot  that  he  had  planned  it,  and  never  took  the 
slightest  credit  to  himself  for  it.  He  was  satisfied  that  some 
one  had  done  the  work. 

4*  4-  -^ 
No  one  could  truthfully  charge  the  Archbishop  with  being 
ambitious,  except  in  doing  good.  He  was  never  ambitious  to 
shine,  or  to  rise  to  heights  of  ecclesiastical  dignity.  How 
easy  it  would  be  to  show  this,  were  I  to  speak  now  of  inci- 
dents, well  known  to  me,  that  show  the  humility  of  this  man 
who  had  been  called  to  rule  one  of  the  greatest  dioceses  in  the 
world.  His  humility  made  him  shy  and  could  easily  be  mis- 
taken for  excessive  reserve;   but  it  was  true  humility. 


Archbishop  Quigley  was  not  a  fighter,  yet,  when  some- 
thing in  which  he  was  interested  was  attacked,  the  Archbishop 
not  only  could  fight,  but  even  invited  the  chance.  Knowing 
that,  I  never  was  afraid  for  the  Society  as  long  as  he  lived; 
and  the  only  reason  I  am  not  afraid  now,  is  because  he 
remained  long  enough  with  it  to  see  that  the  foundation  was 
well  built.  Persistent  reports  once  came  to  him  of  criticisms 
in  high  places.  He  spoke  of  them  to  me  during  one  of  the 
little  evening  chats  upon  which  I  depended  so  much  for  secur- 
ing his  ideas  as  to  the  direction  of  the  work.  I  suggested 
that  I  might  make  a  call  on  a  certain  dignitary  to  explain  the 
misunderstanding.  He  answered :  "  Don't  do  it.  I  have 
allowed  this  thing  to  run  along  because  I  thought  it  would 
die  out,  but  it  has  now  gotten  to  the  danger  point.  The  peo- 
ple who  are  responsible  for  these  rumors  are  acting  in  good 
faith.  They  have  simply  taken  their  information  from  the 
wrong  source  —  those  who  did  not  know;  and  it  is  my  duty 
to  set  them  right.  Next  week  I  will  go  and  do  the  talking 
myself."  He  kept  his  promise  and  did  the  talking  very  effec- 
tively. It  was  the  end  of  the  difficulties  from  that  particular 
quarter,  and  it  is  only  justice  to  say  that  the  person  to  whom 
the  Archbishop  did  talk,  not  only  changed  his  opinion  of  the 
Society,  but  also  as  to  the  character  of  the  Archbishop  of 
Chicago.  From  that  day  on,  the  two  men  became  warm  per- 
sonal admirers,  which  admiration  lasted  till  the  day  of  the 
Archbishop's  death.  "  What  I  object  to,"  His  Grace  used  to 
say,  in  speaking  of  criticisms  against  the  Society,  "  is  not  that 
we  are  being  talked  about,  or  even  that  we  are  criticized.  It 
is  not  a  bad  thing  to  be  advertised  when  we  depend  on  adver- 
tising for  success,  and  criticism  is  usually  helpful,  but  I 
object  to  people  getting  their  information  from  those  who 

do  not  know." 

4«    1^    ^ 

Two  things  were  very  close  to  the  Archbishop's  heart: 
St.  Mary's  Training  School,  where  he  had  gathered  his 
orphans  and  waifs  together  into  what  was  not  an  orphan 
asylum  but  a  perfect  home ;  and  The  Catholic  Church  Exten- 
sion Society-  One  represented  his  diocesan  interests,  and  the 
other  his  contribution  to  the  general  work  of  the  Church.  He 
felt  that  both  would  bring  blessings  upon  his  administration 
and  upon  himself.     When  I  saw  him  for  the  last  time,  I  said 


to  him,  never  believing  that  his  illness  would  prove  fatal: 
"  This  is  a  good  time  for  Your  Grace  to  rest.  Dr.  Hoban 
told  you  that  everything  is  running  along  perfectly  smooth 
in  the  diocese,  and  I  can  tell  you  that  the  same  thing  is  true 
about  the  Society.  We  have  closed  our  second  quarter  with 
the  best  showing  yet."  His  kindly  smile  expanded  at  once, 
as  he  answered :  "  That's  good.  You  need  not  worry  about 
success  as  long  as  you  are  kind  to  others.  God  blesses  kind- 
ness, and  the  Church  Extension  Society  has  always  been  kind. 
We  have  followed  right  lines,  and  it  is  a  great  consolation 
to  me." 

Next  morning  I  called  on  the  Archbishop  again,  for  I  was 
going  back  to  Chicago.  He  was  sitting  up,  but  he  did  not 
look  so  well;  and  I  detected  something  in  him  that  I  had 
not  previously  noticed.  Before  I  left  I  felt  certain  that  the 
Archbishop  was  going  to  die.  I  mentioned  already  that  he 
avoided  praising  those  who  were  under  his  authority,  with 
the  idea,  I  am  sure,  that  praise  should  come  only  when  the 
task  was  done.  Now,  the  task  he  had  taken  up  in  Church 
Extension  could  never  be  done,  so  he  avoided  praising  any 
of  those  who  helped  him.  But  he  said  something  before  I 
left  that  made  me  feel  as  if  he  thought  the  task  was  done  for 
him ;  and  again  before  me  rose  the  picture  of  my  own  father, 
who  never  said  a  word  of  praise  for  his  children  till,  dying, 
it  could  do  them  only  good.  "  Good-by,  Your  Grace,"  I  said, 
"  I  must  go  back  to  Chicago  this  afternoon.  It  will  be  neces- 
sary to  call  a  meeting  of  the  Executive  Committee.  For  the 
first  time  we  will  not  have  you  with  us;  but  I  promise  you 
that,  since  your  hand  will  not  be  on  the  wheel  for  a  little 
while,  I  will  be  more  prudent  than  usual."  What  sounded 
like  a  joke  was  meant  to  be  earnest,  and  the  Archbishop  took 
it  as  it  was  meant.  Putting  out  his  hand,  he  said :  "  You 
have  always  been  prudent,  and  you  have  always  pleased  me.** 
Then  a  sad  look  passed  over  his  face  and  the  smile  left  mine. 
It  was  a  real  good-by  —  so  real  that,  though  I  never  till  then 
suspected  myself  of  sentiment,  the  mist  in  my  eyes  half 
blinded  me  as  I  walked  out  of  the  hospital. 

In  the  years  to  come  the  Church  Extension  Society  will 
have  to  deal  with  many  Chancellors.  We  have  every  reason 
to  trust  that  the  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Ghost  and  the  wisdom 
of  the  Holy  See  will  choose  them  well.     It  might  be  expected. 


after  this  poor  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  First  Chancellor, 
that  I  should  say  we  need  all  others  to  be  just  like  him;  but 
I  am  not  saying  that.  Archbishop  Quigley  admirably  fitted 
in  the  most  important  place  as  First  Chancellor.  He  had  all 
the  qualities  that  proclaimed  him  great  there:  prudence  com- 
bined with  generosity,  carefulness  combined  with  sympathy, 
conservatism  combined  with  well-balanced  liberality,  humility 
combined  with  vision.  These  were  the  things  necessary  to 
guide  the  ship  through  the  river  and  the  harbor  until  it 
reached  the  seas.  But  Archbishop  Quigley  was  a  pilot,  not  a 
navigation  officer  —  though  it  has  been  known  that  pilots  have 
made  the  best  of  navigation  officers.  His  genius  was  for  the 
silent,  careful,  difficult  task.  He  depended  for  the  carrying 
out  of  his  plans  upon  other  men;  but  he  knew  how  to  make 
them  imderstand  him,  and,  better  still,  to  understand  their 
responsibilities.  He  guided  the  ship  safely  to  the  outer  har- 
bor light,  and  then  his  tired  hand  weakened  on  the  wheel; 
and  he  who  had  been  vigilant  in  the  darkness,  keen  of  sight 
in  the  watches,  he  —  he  fell  asleep  forever. 

^   ^   .^ 

O,  great  friend  of  God,  who  was  just  a  little  my  own 
friend,  too,  because  I  was  privileged  to  serve  with  you ;  never 
would  I  have  dared  during  your  lifetime  to  offer  you  one  word 
of  gratitude  or  appreciation,  fearing  to  wound  your  modesty, 
or  make  you  think  that  some  part  of  your  eternal  reward  was 
being  stolen  from  you  by  such  a  miserable  thing  as  an  earthly 
tribute;  but  you  are  dead  now  and  there  is  no  reason  why  I 
should  be  silent.  What  I  have  said  may  serve  to  join  thou- 
sands of  those  who  followed  you  as  leader,  in  a  prayer  for  the 
peaceful  repose  that  you  scorned  for  yourself  in  life.  The 
judgment  of  the  world  that  you  cared  nothing  about,  will  not 
be  untrue  to  the  brief  that  your  deeds  have  written.  Your 
warmest  eulogy  will  come,  perhap>s,  from  those  who  knew  you 
only  at  the  end ;  but  the  most  heartfelt,  from  those  who  had 
learned  by  cooperating  with  you,  all  that  was  in  your  heart. 
Your  sense  of  duty  would  never  allow  you  to  look  into  their 
hearts ;  but  the  knife  that  cut  the  bonds  which  bound  them  to 
you  has  also  cut  their  hearts  wide  open,  so  that  your  spiritual 
eyes  may  look  into  them  now  —  and  you  need  not  be  afraid  of 
what  you  shall  see.  Is  it  anything  to  you  now  to  know,  for  you 
can  know,  that  all  your  priests  and  people  suffered  while  you 


suffered,  though  you  were  far  from  them  when  you  died?  Is 
it  anything  to  you  to  know,  and  you  do  know,  the  sublimely 
simple  tribute  they  paid  you,  when  the  sad  news  of  your 
approaching  death  was  made  known  to  them?  On  your 
heraldic  arms  you  bore  the  lily  of  St.  Joseph,  and  in  your 
motto  you  carried  his  name,  because  you  looked  to  him  as  a 
light  to  your  footsteps,  and  knew  him  as  an  exemplar  of  the 
virtues  you  tried  so  hard  to  cultivate  in  yourself.  Holy  Writ 
rendered  to  him  a  tribute  as  unequalled  in  its  simplicity  as  it 
is  unexcelled  in  its  greatness  and  nobility.  The  inspired 
writer  said  of  the  foster  father  of  our  Lord,  only  that  he  was 
"  a  just  man."  Your  children,  O  foster  father  and  friend  of 
us  all,  linked  you  in  death  to  the  Joseph  to  whose  example 
you  linked  yourself  in  life ;  for  the  common  tribute  to  you  is 
as  simple  as  that  of  the  inspired  writer  to  Joseph,  the  noblest 
tribute  that  can  be  paid,  for  of  you  they  say :  "  He  was  a  just 
man." 

FRANCIS  C.  KELLEY. 


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